


Fire

by Cendiar



Series: Draw's Advent Calendar [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M, anyways I hope you have fun if you stop by, potential whiplash from fluff to light angst back to fluff, real titles also seem hard so we're gonna not do that either, this should probably be longer but words are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cendiar/pseuds/Cendiar
Summary: The music swells, a happily tripping melody of strings, and Crowley squares his shoulders towards the stage. Fireplaces need some kind of maintenance, don’t they? Should he miracle it next time he’s in the bookshop, just to be safe? Not that the angel is going start using the fireplace, surely, it would be so bad for the books. Really not Aziraphale’s style. Although, he has been rather unusually perseverant about this whole “holiday spirit” thing this year. So it’s probably safer to miracle away the dust, or the rats, or whatever it is that accumulates in the chimney. Does the bookshop have a chimney?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Draw's Advent Calendar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562803
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out that it is still very exciting to do the posting words thing! This is absurdly late for the advent calendar, but hopefully you will nevertheless enjoy it, and maybe one day I'll make more progress on filling in the arc/story I am trying to make these snippets into. I hope you have a delightful day, wonderful reader!

“Isn’t this lovely, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, settling more deeply into his seat, and angling his head slightly toward Crowley while taking in the classic Christmas parlor display that has been mocked up on the Nutcracker stage. “It really is so cozy. It makes me think of that Christmas in Wessex, with the fireplace and all the candles. Perhaps I should get a fireplace in the bookshop.”

“You already have one, angel, you just can’t find it behind the stacks of books,” Crowley responds lazily, eyes roving uneasily over the dancing fake flames. “And we must be remembering a different Christmas, because the one I remember had a lot more stale bread and foot fungus than what you’re describing. Wouldn’t want to go back there.”

“Oh, I suppose, but it was still such a nice evening. I hadn’t seen you in years, that time!”

Crowley hums noncommittally. “Yeah, well. Didn’t say the company was half bad.”

The music swells, a happily tripping melody of strings, and Crowley squares his shoulders towards the stage. Fireplaces need some kind of maintenance, don’t they? Should he miracle it next time he’s in the bookshop, just to be safe? Not that the angel is going start using the fireplace, surely, it would be so bad for the books. Really not Aziraphale’s style. Although, he has been rather unusually perseverant about this whole “holiday spirit” thing this year. So it’s probably safer to miracle away the dust, or the rats, or whatever it is that accumulates in the chimney. Does the bookshop have a chimney? 

All told, Crowley spends much of the ballet debating the merits of fireplace maintenance, save for the last few scenes spent detailing furniture placement if the fireplace were to be cleared for regular use. Of course Aziraphale’s wingback chair should face the fire, at an angle. But should his own face the fire from the other side, or be angled directly towards Aziraphale, with the fire behind him? Perhaps the heat and the company would dispel the chill that seems to linger too easily in a demon’s bones. There’s the matter of lighting to consider, too. Being backlit could be quite helpful in hiding gazes and uninvited smiles. 

Crowley takes a moment to picture the effect of a roaring fireplace outlining his edges. As soon as the image flickers into being, though, he nearly wretches at the idea of him – a hellthing, already with hair aflame – rising up in silhouette from the couch, yellow eyes glinting. Really, he had gotten so distracted with the logistics of pampering the angel that he had nearly forgotten the hazard of hellfire and holy fire alike. Flames rise in his mind again, greedy islands of ignited paper and charred divinity in the air. His corporation’s breath is starting to sound in hiccupping gasps, when he distantly registers a change in the lilting music. The ballet has ended, and clapping has overtaken the last notes of the score. 

He forces his hands to move. Each solid clap of Aziraphale’s hands reestablishes his heartbeat for another moment. Another moment that they have not been caught, another moment that they have stolen in the midst of the swirling, centuries-old dance of misdirection, in which centuries could pass without remark and yet that scant hour on Earth without Aziraphale had nearly undone him. 

Crowley steadies his corporation’s breath to the beat of his clapping hands. He sees Aziraphale stand up, and immediately stands to follow the angel out, before realizing that Aziraphale isn’t leaving. Nope. Instead, Aziraphale, and now Crowley, are the first and thus far only two audience members to be giving a standing ovation this particular production of The Nutcracker, of which Crowley remembers virtually nothing. It’s…entirely ridiculous. Still – the surly grumble rising from Crowley’s throat is a comfort, because this particular brand of public embarrassment only ever arises with this very, very particular angel.


End file.
